


When you're gone

by fandammit



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: BFF!Maze, F/M, Found Family Feels, Gen, Linda as therapist to the celestials, because really this is more of an ensemble piece, bigbrother!Amenadiel, deckerstar from afar, post 2x13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandammit/pseuds/fandammit
Summary: Sometime around the third drink, the hurt turns to sadness, and she finds herself thinking of all the things she already misses about him. He would hate this bar, for instance, which was kind of the whole point of this excursion, but now just fills her with a ridiculous sort of longing. She can almost hear his drawling voice pointing out the abhorrent taste of the whisky she’s currently nursing.--------Everyone tries to figure things out in the wake of Lucifer's absence.





	1. Chloe

She lets herself wallow for three whole days afterwards. Then, she decides that enough is enough and does something impulsive and stupid in homage to the man himself: she goes out at 3 in the afternoon and gets spectacularly drunk.

The bar is - well, seedy is the only word that comes to mind as she steps in through the door. Her boots stick to the floor and the lighting casts everything in a otherworldly, orange haze.

It is basically the exact opposite of everything at Lux, so it’ll do.

Sometime around the third drink, the hurt turns to sadness, and she finds herself thinking of all the things she already misses about him. He would hate this bar, for instance, which was kind of the whole point of this excursion, but now just fills her with a ridiculous sort of longing. She can almost hear his drawling voice pointing out the abhorrent taste of the whisky she’s currently nursing.

Somewhere around the fifth drink, the sadness turns to anger, then very quickly curdles into something resembling hatred.

She lets that hatred settle in the pit of her stomach, right in the place where tenderness and warmth used to be.

Sometime after nine she stumbles out of the bar and fumbles with her phone to get an Uber. The process takes about five minutes longer than it normally would since she can’t quite figure out where her Uber app is, then she has to figure out exactly where she’s trying to go. Wow, that last shot of tequila was one (three) too many.

Her preoccupation with her phone keeps her from noticing the fidgety kid standing in front of her, hooded eyes and shaking hands. When she finally does, he points a knife in her direction and orders her to give him her purse.

She’s so caught off guard (and, alright, so drunk) that for a moment all she can do is stare at him. Then, she just starts laughing.

“Seriously?” She asks, still half chuckling to herself. Because of course this would happen to her.

The boy (and he’s a boy - can’t be more than 18) just furrows his brows in what she assumes is supposed to be a threatening look and repeats his words, his voice at a lower register this time around.

She just sighs and moves her jacket back to show her badge that’s clipped to her belt. The boy blanches at the sight of it, but doesn’t drop his knife.

“You’re plastered. That badge isn’t gonna do shit for you.”

She grimaces at his words. He’s right that she’s pretty well sloshed by this point. But she’s also been a cop for the better part of a decade and even the most cursory glance at his awful stance and the tense set of his shoulders tells her that she could easily disarm him.

Which she very promptly does.  

She ends up with the knife in one hand, her other hand resting very casually on her gun. He stares at her, incredulous for a moment, before he grits his teeth and launches himself at her. Except that he does it in such an exaggerated way, telegraphing his movements a full second or two before he actually does anything, that even in her supremely drunk state she’s able to easily sidestep him and knock him to the ground.

She tosses the knife across the parking lot and rests her knees into the small of his back, her hand tweaking his arm up in what she knows is a particularly painful hold.

“Seriously, kid? You gotta know when to give up.” She bears all her weight down on him as he attempts to flip her over, lifting his arm up a little bit more. An irritating noise sounds in her ears. “Sometimes you gotta know when it just isn’t worth the effort any more,” she says, her hand tightening around his arm.

“Chloe.”

She looks up and sees Amenadiel looking down at her, his expression as placid as ever. What the -  

“Chloe, you’re about to break his arm.”

She blinks rapidly and looks down at the boy underneath her. Suddenly it registers that the sound in her ears is his screaming, that her would be assailant’s arm is twisted to the literal breaking point in her hands.

She let go of his hand and pushes herself off of him.

The kid scrambles up and straight into Amenadiel’s corded arms. He looks down at her and tips an eyebrow up.

“Do you want to take him in? Press charges?”

She lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. She just wants to go home.

“Alright, I can do that,” Amenadiel says quietly. Which means she’s at that point of drunkenness where everything is just word vomit. Which she’s fine with, as long as it doesn’t switch to actual vomit.

She looks up as he shoves the kid towards the alleyway with a menacing look. She rubs her head in an attempt to clear it, her adrenaline fading into the fuzziness of inebriation once more.

“I could’ve handled it, you know.”

Amenadiel huffs, then nods slowly.

“I know.” He lifts a brow in the direction of the retreating would-be robber. “I just don’t think he could’ve handled it.”

She tilts her head and scrunches her eyes closely together in an attempt to get Amenadiel to stay still in her vision.

“So, what are you, following me?”

“I - .” He blows out a breath, then fixes her with a mirthless smile. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He stares at her for a long moment before he answers.

“I can’t imagine what Lucifer might do to me if anything happened to you while he was away.”

She wants to say that Lucifer doesn’t have a right to anything any more. That nothing’s going to happen to her. That if he was really so concerned about her, he shouldn’t have left in the first place.

But the words stick in her throat, held in place by a lump that she’s afraid will trigger some other mess of embarrassing emotions she feels building behind her eyes. So instead she shakes her head at his words, letting them settle right on top of that hatred in her stomach. Feels them eating away at the still soft shell of loathing.

“So you think he’s coming back?” She asks after a moment, hating how small and desperate her voice sounds.

If Amenadiel notices the tremor in her voice, he’s kind enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, he unfolds his arms and offers his hand up to help her.

“I think that he went to Hell to save you.” He tugs her up gently and steps away from her, pretends to fidget with his own coat while she straightens herself out again. “That has to mean something.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” she huffs out, trying to fix him with a hard stare. Which is difficult because she’s not quite sure where he’s standing. Or where’s she standing. God, the world needs to stop tilting.  

He reaches a hand out to steady her, then has to grab hold of her to keep her from crashing inelegantly to the ground when she misjudges the distance between the curb and the road.

“So, I’m pretty drunk,” she announces.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and moves her back onto the sidewalk.

“I gathered as much.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just keeps his arm firmly around her shoulders in a way that keeps her from tipping over. She feels like every drink she’s had today has suddenly hit her all at once; even standing up is a chore at this point. Eventually - it might be a few seconds, could be an hour for all she knows - she gives up trying to fully stand on her own and steadies herself by snaking her arm out against the broad expanse of his back.

They stand like that until her Uber shows up.

She steps away from him.

“Alright, I can take it from here,” she says, then promptly trips off the curb and crashes into the car door.

“Clearly,” Amenadiel comments drily before reaching in front of her and opening the car door. She all but collapses into the back seat, fully prepared to lay across the seat before the opposite door opens and Amenadiel settles himself next to her.

The car lurches forward suddenly and she finds herself tilting towards Amenadiel. She’s too tired and woozy to do anything but give into it at this point, so she just rests her head on his shoulder.

“You know,” he begins, the deep timbre of his voice tinged with a bit of awe, “it’s nothing short of miraculous that you managed to disarm that young man with the amount of alcohol that must be in your veins right now.”

She scoffs.

“That’s me, Chloe Decker, the walking miracle.”

Amenadiel sighs.

“Yes, that’s the issue, isn’t it?” Which is such a weird fucking thing to say. She’s too drunk to puzzle out what the hell it means, so she goes to ask him.

But her mouth and heart have different intentions.

“Why’d he leave?” She blurts out instead, mortified, but at least proud of the way she manages to keep the tremor out of her voice this time. When he doesn’t say anything, she lifts her head from his shoulder and turns away to watch the city pass by through the window. “Nevermind. I know it must be different for you. I mean, God knows how antagonistic Lucifer can be.”

Amenadiel laughs, though the sound is more bitter than anything.

“He only has himself to blame for it, really.” She barely has the time to try and puzzle through what the hell that even means - seriously, has he always been this obtuse - before Amenadiel lets out a long sigh. “I didn’t always think so. I was always the good son. Always did what dad asked. Luci, he - he just didn’t think.” She tilts her head up at the nickname, at the way his voice softens for just a moment along the syllables of it. Amenadiel pauses, then pushes out a sharp breath. “But now - lately - I think it isn’t that at all. Lucifer just always thought for himself. He always wanted the freedom to make his own choices.”

She has to force herself to ignore the entire first half of his musing and instead focuses on the last bit that actually makes sense to her.

“That’s all any of us want.”

He nods, the movement heavy and sorrowful.

“But not everyone gets it. People like Lucifer - and me. We don’t get it.”

Chloe shakes her head.

“Bullshit.”

He narrows his eyes at her.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Well, that’s certainly true of a lot of things, particularly about half the statements that have come out of his mouth tonight. But in this, she’s fairly certain she can prove her point.  

“Amenadiel, if you could’ve chosen, would you have picked Lucifer to be your brother?”

A snort sounds from deep in his throat before he can stop it.

“Probably not.”

“Definitely not,” Chloe says, only half joking, because she’s seen the way the two of them can sometimes only barely tolerate one another. “But he is your brother.”

He cocks at eyebrow at her.

“To the disappointment of both us, I’m sure.”

She shrugs.

“Maybe. But you love him, even if you wouldn’t have chosen him.”

It’s his turn to shrug.

“Well, he’s my brother.”

She huffs at that, then smiles at him.

“So? That doesn’t mean you’re obligated to love him.”

He blinks rapidly at her and tilts his head, as if that thought has never once occurred to him. And - who knows - perhaps it never has.   

“No,” he says slowly, “I suppose not.”

“But you do love him.” She waits for him, forcing her blurred vision to focus on his features, the way his mouth twitches in acceptance, how understanding dawns in his eyes. “Despite how infuriating he is. Despite how different the two of you are. Despite all the reasons why you shouldn’t.”

He gives her a long look that’s disguised as a question she refuses to answer. After a moment, he gives up and just nods.

“Yes. I do.”

She smiles at him, triumphant.

“See? That you choose to do.”

He furrows his brows at her.

“So, you’re saying that I do have the freedom to choose. And I’ve chosen to…love Lucifer?”

He sounds so completely bewildered, his tone dancing somewhere between disdain and incredulity, that Chloe has to laugh.

“He does sneak up on you, doesn’t he?” Her smile fades. Suddenly, she’s incredibly exhausted. “Believe me, I wish that weren’t true.” Her shoulders droop as she rests her head back down on his shoulder.

She feels him take in a deep breath, then let it out again slowly.

“He’ll be back, Chloe. He wouldn’t leave you.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in something that might be grimace, might be a smile.

“But he did leave.”

“He just - he needs to figure some things out. Our father - he. Then our mother. Well - .”

He makes a few more flustered attempts to explain what she knows to be one fucked up family dynamic before she finally takes pity on him and shakes her head.

“It’s alright. It’s not your job to explain it to me.” She lifts her shoulder in a wearied half shrug. “And it’s fine. I don’t need him. Or want him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She’s quiet for a long moment.

“I have to, right now.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, just loops his arm around her shoulder and lets her settle in against his side. It’s comforting - well, as much as it can be when she’s three drinks past wasted and leaning against the hard planes of a man she, admittedly, doesn’t know that well.

Still, it’s not bad.

“You’re a good big brother,” she murmurs half into his shoulder. Even without looking at him, she can feel his surprise. She doesn’t elaborate, isn’t even really sure why she said it other than the fact that it’s true, as far as she can tell, and she thinks someone should tell him. He’d been there when Lucifer had been looking for his wings, had helped to clear Lucifer’s name. And although she still can’t quite figure out why it’d been necessary, he’d stood his ground at the hospital just because Lucifer had told him that she couldn’t be moved.

Amenadiel breathes out heavily.

“I’m trying to be.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence, though not as uncomfortable as it might’ve been. When they get to her house, Amenadiel practically has to drag her out of the car and half carry her to the doorstep.

“Seriously?” Maze says as she opens the door. She’s indignant and - if Chloe didn’t know better - a little bit hurt. She looks up from the floor and waits for her vision to catch up, then squints at Maze. No, not hurt - amused and incredulous, but definitely not hurt.

“I know, I know.” She backs away from Amenadiel and walks unsteadily over to the kitchen counter, only tripping twice, and pours herself a glass of water. “It won’t happen again.”

Maze huffs at her.

“No, it needs to happen again, but this time I’d like to be there.” She throws a disdainful look at Amenadiel. “I’m way better company than he is.”

And there it is again - that fleeting look of hurt.

Chloe looks at Maze - which honestly is about ten times harder than it’s ever been with the way that the world keeps spinning - and shakes her head.

“I didn’t invite him, Maze. He just showed up out of nowhere like some kind of -

“Stalker?” Maze says, smirking at Amenadiel.

“ - Guardian angel,” Chloe finishes up, then laughs. She turns to Amenadiel. “Good thing Trixie’s not up - she might actually start thinking that you’re an angel sent here to protect me.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely not why he was sent here,” Maze mutters under her breath. Chloe looks over at her and sees Maze staring at Amenadiel with an expression that’s a cross between loathing and desire; so, pretty par for the course on her part. Amenadiel, on the other hand, has lost his normally placid non-expression and is looking at Maze with a mixture of shame and regret and longing, so open and honest that Chloe feels like she should look away.

She clears her throat.

“So, I’m gonna - uh - head up. Get some rest.”

Maze looks over at her.

“I’ll keep the little human preoccupied in the morning. Take her out for pancakes so she doesn’t bother you.”

“That’s - ,” she wants to say that it isn’t necessary, but she can tell by the way the floor continues to slosh around that tomorrow is gonna be hell. So instead, she smiles at Maze and nods. “Thanks.”

Chloe looks over at Amenadiel.

“Thanks, Amenadiel.” After a moment’s hesitation, she walks quickly over to him and gives him a hug. He starts at the contact - seriously, he and Lucifer must’ve had a difficult upbringing to shy away from touch so completely - then wraps his arms around her quickly before letting go.


	2. Amenadiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He breaths in deeply. How has his life gotten to the point where one of God’s angels is being berated by his brother’s demon guardian?
> 
> Still, he’s at least able to admit that she’s not wrong. He can’t fully figure out his brother’s devotion to Chloe, nor can he even begin to fathom his attachment to humanity and this world at large.
> 
> What he can understand is this: he’s hurt everyone he cares about to serve his own ends.  
> \------  
> Amenadiel and Maze argue, then he watches an episode of "Angel" with Trixie.

The minute Chloe turns the corner up the stairs, Maze rounds on him with a look of truly righteous fury. As the resident expert on the matter, he has to admit that he’s impressed.

And also a little bit fearful.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hisses out through her teeth, the words as sharp as the blades he has no doubt she is currently carrying.

He takes a small step back as he gestures towards the stairway.

“Making sure Chloe got home safely.”

Maze bares her teeth at him, the movement somewhere between a razor sharp smile and a snarl.

“She's been fine for 35 years. I'm pretty sure she can manage without some defunct angel.” She sneers at him, her glance making him feel petty and stripped clean. “And when she can't, I can be there for her.”

He sighs and leans against the wall, the set of his shoulders slumped and defeated.

“I just wanted to make sure she was ok.”

Maze narrows her eyes.

“Cut the shit, Amenadiel.”

He looks up at her, his brows drawn together.

“What - .”

“I mean,” she says, stepping towards him, “what's your plan here? What are you and that bitch you call a mother up to now?”

He lifts his hands in front of him, spreads his fingers plaintively in a symbol of openness

“Nothing, Maze.” When she continues staring at him, he goes on, speaking slowly. “I swear. I haven't even talked to her since we found out Lucifer left.”

Her fierce expression falters for a moment before she shakes her head. She moves back just enough for him to know that attack isn’t immediately imminent, but not enough to discount the threat of it completely. Mostly, though, her closeness makes it difficult for him to think clearly.  

He wishes that still weren’t true.

She’s still looking at him with intense loathing, her words dripping in sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.”

He sighs heavily.

“Why don't you believe me?”

She scoffs.

“Maybe because you’ve never had an original thought in your entire fucking life. Maybe because you need to follow someone and I’m having a hard time believing you wouldn’t follow that shrew of a mother of yours when she’s promising to get you back to the Silver City.” She gives him a lot that’s shot completely through with contempt and disgust. “Even if it means destroying your brother’s happiness and driving him away.”

“Maze, I - I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“Obviously. You just thought manipulating him would help you get back to heaven.”

He closes his eyes. Just the name of it fills him with a desperate kind of longing.

He breathes out slowly, then opens his eyes and looks at her. His tone takes on a pleading sort of cadence that he doesn’t intend or want. He knows that Maze won’t care, even as much as she might empathize.

“Can you blame me for wanting to go back home?”

She looks away from him and shakes her head, turns back towards him with her eyes blazing.  

“I blame you for Lucifer running away. I blame you for hurting him and Chloe.” She steps in closer to him, staring hard into his eyes. “Lucifer is a lot of things, but at least he doesn’t pretend to be good while hurting every single person around him.”

He blows out an angry breath, though mostly to mask how closely the words hit, how much they hurt.

“I don’t belong here, Maze!” He yells out, his frustration finally making itself known.

She lets out a sound that’s dangerously close to a growl.

“Neither do I, Amenadiel!” She steps back towards him, her eyes narrowed to slits. “None of us do! But we’re here and we’re not going anywhere.” She shakes her head at him and rocks back on her heels. “You should’ve just been a big boy and learned to fucking deal with it instead of fucking things up for everyone else.”

He breaths in deeply. How has his life gotten to the point where one of God’s angels is being berated by his brother’s demon guardian?

Still, he’s at least able to admit that she’s not wrong. He can’t fully figure out his brother’s devotion to Chloe, nor can he even begin to fathom his attachment to humanity and this world at large.

What he can understand is this: he’s hurt everyone he cares about to serve his own ends.

So he looks at Maze and just sighs heavily before he speaks.

“I know, Maze. You’re right.” He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. “I made a mistake.”

She raises a brow.

“A mistake?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle.

“Lots of mistakes,” he amends, looking down at her. “But I’m trying to be better. To be good.”

“And just how - .”

They’re interrupted by two loud thuds above them, right where Chloe’s room would be. He looks at Maze, alarmed, and gets ready to sprint up the stairs.

He feels Maze’s hand on his arm, her grip firm. She shakes her head at him.

“I don’t think she’s in danger, she probably just fell.” She tilts her head. “You can hear the shower running.”

She lets go of his arm, a tentative look on her face.

“I’ll go check on her just in case though. It’d be pretty stupid if she drowned in the tub after Lucifer went to Hell to save her.”

She walks quickly up the stairs, yelling Chloe’s name as she does and leaving him alone in the kitchen. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks around uncertainly. He’s walks over to the kitchen and starts washing the dishes just to give himself something to do when he hears a door open behind him.

“Amenadiel?”

He shuts off the water and turns around. A few feet away is the detective’s child - Trixie, he recalls - rubbing her eyes, a stuffed animal tucked against her arm. His expression softens as he looks at her, this child of a miracle who befriended the devil and a demon and told a fallen angel that he was good.

He can’t help the smile that forms on his face. She squints up at him, her head tilted back in a way that seems almost painful. He frowns and gets down on one knee so that he isn’t towering over her.

“Hey, little one. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

She shrugs, eyes still blinking back sleep.

“I heard yelling and a big bump.”

He purses his lips to the side before reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry about the yelling. Maze and I were - .” He frowns and shakes his head. “We were being silly. We didn’t mean to wake you up. And that bump was your mommy. She - uh - accidentally ran into something.” He squeezes her shoulder when her eyes widen in dismay. “But Maze went up to help her, so she should be just fine,” he finishes up in a rush.  

She nods slowly, seeming to turn the words over in her mind.

“But you and Maze and mommy are ok now?”

He tilts his head to the side.

“I’m sure your mommy will be alright. She’s just feeling kind of sick and...sad,” he finally says, because he’s not all that fond of lying either, and that seems like the closest thing to the truth.

She gives him a long, serious look that’s surprisingly perceptive given how young she is.

“Is it because of Lucifer?”

“What do you mean?” He asks, pretending not to be thrown off by her question. He hopes she hadn’t heard too much of the argument between him and Maze. He’s trying to figure out exactly what to tell her when she steps in closer to him, her expression sad and solemn.

“Mommy’s sad because he’s gone and she doesn’t know why.”

“She told you that?”

Trixie shakes her head.

“I asked her why he was gone and she said she didn’t know. Then she said she didn’t want to talk about it any more.” She steps in closer to him, as though imparting a secret. “She only says that when she’s sad or mad, and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t mad.”

He sighs.

“None of us knew that he was going to leave.”

“But he’ll be back, right?” She asks, her eyes wide and wondering.

“I - .” He drops his hand and looks away. “I hope so.”

She’s quiet for a long moment before he feels her hand on his.

“Do you wanna watch my show with me?”

He looks over at her, considers her suggestion. Really, he knows that he should probably tell her to go back to bed. But, since he also feels bad that he’s part of the reason she’s back up in the first place.

She’s staring up at him with large brown eyes shining with excitement. It’s basically damn near impossible to say no to.

And, he reasons as he wraps his hand around hers and stands up, one episode won’t hurt.

“Sure,” he says, and smiles as she tugs him forward towards the couch. “What’s it about?”

She settles onto the couch and searches for the remote.

“Um, what’s the word for when you did bad stuff but you want to make up for doing that bad stuff by doing good stuff?”

He looks over at her in surprise.

“Redemption.”

She smiles broadly and nods at him before turning on the TV.

“Oh, yeah. It’s about that.”

He furrows his brow.

“What do you mean?”

She clicks through the menus on the TV, not looking at him as she answers.

“It’s about a man who used to be bad, but he doesn’t want to be bad any more. He wants to make up for all the bad things he’s done, so he moves to Los Angeles and tries to be a good person by helping people.”

“Huh. What’s it called?”

“Angel.”

He stares at Trixie, dumbfounded for a moment, trying to decide if she’s simply trying to pull a joke on him. Trying to figure out how exactly she might know to use this as a joke.

When he looks at the screen and realizes that she isn’t joking, that it really is what the show is called and that’s really what it’s about, he finds he can’t help but laugh - long and loud and full of mirth. He’s never quite understood the human phrase about his father having a sense of humor, but right now he really has to wonder.

“Amenadiel? What’s funny?”

He looks down at Trixie, who’s now looking at him like he might have lost his mind - and, who knows, perhaps he has.

He shakes his head at her.

“Nothing. It sounds like a great show.” He clears his throat and turns towards the tv. “Let’s watch. Maybe I can learn some pointers.”

* * *

 

The credits are rolling on the screen when he feels a slight weight against his arm. He looks down and sees Trixie leaning against him with her legs tucked under her, her eyes closed and her breathing deep and even.

He reaches over to grab the remote and pauses the tv before looping his arms under her and standing up. He’s about to turn towards her room when he hears Maze come back down the stairs.

She stops abruptly and looks him over.

“What was she doing up?”

He shrugs.

“Our fight woke her up. I watched TV with her until she fell asleep again.”

She shakes her head at him and rolls her eyes, though he doesn’t think it’s as caustic as it could be.

“Or she suckered you into watching one of her shows rather than going immediately back to bed like she should’ve.”

He lifts his shoulders.

Maze grins at him, and for the first time in the night it isn’t bordering on a sneer.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great at manipulating people.”

He nods in agreement, then walks slowly into Trixie’s room and sets her down carefully on her bed. She rolls over and grips her stuffed animal tightly, burrowing her face into her pillow and sighing softly before her breathing evens out once more.

It’s the sleep of someone who knows she is loved and safe and secure. Who is sure enough of her place in the world to not even shuffle or turn in bed. He envies her.

He walks out of the bedroom quietly, shutting the door firmly behind him and finding himself face to face with Maze.

“Were you washing the dishes?” She says, her eyes narrowed, mouth a red slash of accusation.

“I - well - yes. I did. I needed something to do while I waited for you to come back down.” He twists his hands around one another. “I need your help with something.”

She arches a brow at him.

“I’m not going to help you find him.”

He nods.

“I know. That’s not what I was going to ask.”

Maze snorts in disbelief and shakes her head.

“Bullshit.”

He sighs.

“Apparently, I’m full of that tonight.”

She purses her lips, a sardonic look in her eyes.

“Tonight?”

He feels affronted for the briefest moment, before he simply huffs a laugh and nods.

“I...I deserve that.”

“I know you do.”

He crosses his arms in front of him.

“You are right though, Maze - I need to figure out my place down here.” He gestures towards her. “You did, Lucifer did, now I need to.”

She gives him a long look before she leans against the countertop.

“And how exactly am I supposed to help you figure out your place? And, more importantly, why should I? Lucifer and I both managed to do it without any help.”

He nods.

“I know. I’m not asking you to help me find my place, I just need your help finding me a new identity so I can look for a job.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“And what exactly are you looking for?”

Not even a day ago, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to answer her question. Now, a ready answer springs to his mind, leaping forward with a sincerity and sureness he hasn’t felt in so long.

“Redemption.”


End file.
